The evening has taken in its unfurled sails.
The trees have intertwined their branches to form a wall.
The twilight breezes wander through the leaves that soon will fall.
And the tops of the pines are still.
The fields of barley glow and shine, after gathering the summer light.
The stork, having rested on its perch, spreads its wings wide to take flight.
The wind subsides, and dies away. It is warm.
Silently, I keep my memory of you alive:
It is like the most delicate glass,
Like my own very last breath.